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Sunday, May 06, 2012

Agentversary Entry: Day 1!

The rules are simple. Write a caption of no more than 150 words for this photo. It can be a beginning or a middle or a fleeting glimpse of the literary. It must be based on the image and it must be your original work!

You may enter once each day.

This is open worldwide, but entries must be in English. The query critique prize must be for a manuscript in English.

I will choose a selection of my favorites and utilize a panel of secret judges to help me choose the winner. The winner gets a query critique from Mollie Glick of Foundry Literary (to be awarded in late June/early July.)

Iliana Wynn and her wolf find refuge beneath the ruins of Cairn's religion district, where the non-believers still hunt them both, hoping to destroy her magic. Somewhere in the caverns beneath the city lies the Vacilla Stone - Iliana's one hope to change back her lover-turned-canine, and free her people from an oppressive High Priest that seeks to annihilate them all.

There was no-one around, except for one girl and her dog.Hidden from the world, the girl thought about her future, her dreams, her family... But they were no more. An oppressive government rule had seen to that. It was up to her now, she had one choice. One choice or everyone she ever loved would be gone forever.She could try and save the lives of those in her society or let it all fade away.If she was to get caught, the punishment would be worse than death itself, much worse.But could she bear to live with the pain? The pain of knowing she did nothing...

‘I see sky no more. The celestial bodies have been stolen of their positions and replaced by our poorly selected government. Moonlight falls from the regime’s eyes like raindrops scattered across the land, scanning it for the broken law. Hold your head low my lovely beast, and avoid insulting them with direct eye contact. The people of our land are innocent and captive of bad judgement. Our people have mistaken the political body as gods who live above the skies in poor semblance to heaven—a caricature of gothic medieval buildings. This regime, having turned men to grovel on all fours, instilled its power of punishment yesterday by offering each woman death and acceptance into their ‘heaven’.’ Above all abominable things one girl remains—a girl who by her despical ruling chose to stay with wolves. She will regret her choice. If not by death, then by life.

Their love was forbidden. The darkness of the world above had seen to that. He had been transformed—cursed. And she along with him. Though separated, they carried a ray of blessed hope in their hearts. They would be together one day, a day when the sun rose again.

They said a wolf couldn’t survive in Tower City. They said that the Keepers were strong enough to keep the beasts and all outside forces away, as they had since they retreated into isolation years and years ago. What they said was correct. Like every other outsider, from the tiniest sparrow to a human being, wolves could not survive. But a wolf-girl like Luna could.

They said it couldn't be done. Not now, with the battered talismans strung across their spires like broken teeth. They unhooked the sickle moon from the sky and they made it theirs. They made it mortal.

So it should have been impossible to plunge her out of the earth: a girl made of wish-breath and secrets, white light and bone. They say she was once a minor star. They say she was the moon they stole. Or that once, before the war, she was human too. Small, and fragile.

None of that matters now, he thinks. He sent out his soul, wrapped in wolfskin, over land and under the blackened towers of the city - all to find her. And here she is, her thin fingers curled into his fur. A prize this big will save his people. He grins wolf-grins, silvered and sharp.

Nadia waited until the lights from the high priestesses' windows had been extinguished. Only after they were asleep would Nadia be able to lead Bens unhindered past the churchyard to the House of the Crescent Moon. There, Master Henrique could surely do something for Bens. Would the Master let her live if she were to escort Bens inside? Or would she be torn to shreds, like all women foolish enough to come calling?

She looked into the wolf's eyes, saw a glimmer of her childhood friend's intelligence there, and knew she had no choice.

She and Bens passed quietly through the city streets. Sentries patrolling the town limits paid her no mind. She paused at the House. The full moon's light passed through the crescent moon on the House's rooftop, its shadow forming a sickle across her shadow's neck.

I can’t stay away. Even when I know it’s dangerous, even when I know it will probably mean my death, I run to it.

Something about the feeling, the smells. The dark. It fills me with desire, it fills me with freedom. Each day I wait for a free moment, the chance to escape the city, into the labyrinth below. Most people don't even know it exists anymore. The tunnels remain hidden, except to me.

Once I'm down there I run until I can't run anymore.

The creatures below the city were scared of me at first. Now they accept me as one of them: A creature of the dark. But sometimes I wonder if I am just odd. My mother tells me I belong in the light.

Below the tombstones, we are beings made of light. This is the last bridge on the road home. If we cross, I shall no longer be luminous. My dearest friend will turn to rot, stink and decay. Souls drift to the deeps around us, like falling stars who have forgotten their way. Once we may go down. Once we may go up. There is no turning back.

We both know what happens now. We pretend to pay each other the kindness of honesty but it’s impossible to lie when you’re of one mind. During the grisly battle, our connection was vital. It saved our lives. We fought valiantly, fiercely. Our thoughts and actions merged. We were a single, formidable adversary.

Enemies were felled, the numbers quickly turning in our favor. Victory was assured but we felt sorrow instead of joy. Much like our bodies could before the spell, our world was shifting, the air charged with certainty.

We salute each other in our own way. A grateful bow. A regretful caress.